Post apocalyptic outfit.

He got up and walked to the bathroom, pulling off his mangled and slightly ripped shirt, then throwing it to the floor.

Heart stepped out of the shower, the warm glow still radiating off his body from the heat of the steam. Saint's shower facilities were soothing and relaxing. Now Heart was clean, and his pink skin had been maddeningly scrubbed to practically raw everywhere on his body. He thought twice before doing it because he had never had to go about cleaning down there so... thoroughly before, but he had cleaned everything. 

Yet it hadn't helped anything. He would never be able to clean the images of their wild and passionate sex from his mind. 

Which was okay by him since he didn't want to. He rather wanted to treasure it, actually.

And treasure it he had.

Because he had spent the entire shower thinking about how Saint's face had looked as he came, replaying that moment like his own personal movie inside his head.